Xander knew he was dreaming, of course.  Ever since his abilities had surfaced he’d been peculiarly sensitive during his dreams, often experiencing a sense of being conscious inside them.  It had been a boon and a curse: a boon when dealing with the impossible scenarios within his nightmares; a curse because he rarely escaped from reality.

Tonight he was back at Sunnydale High, alone as the school crumbled around him in the midst of the town’s destruction.  He felt a pain in his empty eye socket, or rather, a reversal of pain, beginning as the dull ache the damage had become by that time and becoming agonising before the eye was suddenly popped back into his skull.  That wasn’t new either: the eye was returned to him on a regular basis, his vision bi-optical and twenty-twenty as he watched the dreamscape unfold.

A few minutes to acclimatise and he was picking through the rubble, looking, probably, for Anya.  Probably, because he’d never found her yet and, waking, had pondered the significance of that.  Too simple, surely, for it to be the fact he’d never seen her body so her death had seemed unreal for a very long time.  He thought it might be because she was already lost to him at the time of her passing.  Or, if he wanted to feel especially guilty, that he didn’t deserve to find her because somehow he let her die, or led to her death, and if his every waking hour hadn’t been so preoccupied with sexsexsexsexsex when she first propositioned him she would’ve been somewhere safe, far away from the action that would lead to her being slain.

Perhaps tonight he’d find the pile of ash that had been Spike saving the world.  That would…hurt.  Now.  Not then, naturally.  Back then the vampire had been an accepted casualty of war, warranting a moment’s reflection but no tugging of emotional strings.  Now, though?  Xander was undoubtedly…strung.  No longer taking a lead from Buffy’s sanity-preserving outward indifference to the death and mayhem, Xander felt.

“Spike?” he called, hearing himself echo endlessly through the empty building.  “Spike?”

“Xaaaaander.”

“Ah, shit.”

Any voice that sounded like gravel being rolled simultaneously around steel and plastic buckets had to be bad.

“Xaaaaander.”

Xander kept walking, kept looking, unable to pin down the direction of the voice, trying to ignore it until the source made itself known, when he’d no doubt find himself running down the requisite endless corridor to escape it, or…suddenly discover he was naked in the middle of Angel’s memorial service.  Oh, yeah, that had been a doozy.

“Xaaaaander.”

“Hello?”

“Xaaaaander.”

He jumped back a good couple of feet as the rubble in front of him stirred, spouting dust and waste like a minor volcano, tumbling away to reveal…

“Oh.  God.  No.”

…his lost love, and appearing exactly as any reasonable person could expect her to after being hacked to death and buried under an assortment of jagged and heavy debris.  She smiled sweetly at Xander, the effort splitting the decomposing flesh on her once-beautiful face; skin sloughed from her arms as she shifted to tug away rotting clothes from her oozing body.

“Xaaaaander.”

Her legs opened, one hip joint collapsing and the leg swinging wide, and she glistened with putrefaction rather than lust as she offered herself; Xander watched with disgust as his dream hands enthusiastically undid his belt, fumbling in eagerness over button and zip.

Aware but unable to intervene, Xander felt the sharpness of broken concrete under his own knees as he knelt between Anya’s, his ardent desire evident as his erection dripped onto her, and where each drip landed a void formed, dark and deep and humming with life.  When the first bugs crawled from the voids, Xander – even insanely horny dream Xander – couldn’t help but jerk away from the disintegrating corpse, and as the trickle became a line became a rush became a swarm that whirled around him and bit and tore, he screamed in panic and sobbed apologies to Anya in the hope she’d make it stop.

“Xaaaaander.”

“Please?  I never meant this to happen.”

A wider grin and the flesh slid away from the jaw with a gruesome slurp, barely visible through the black clouds of insects.

“My.  Own.”

Xander forced himself awake with a wail of dismay, panicking in the darkness, another nightmare, one he lived with, fearing he was completely blind and…

The bedside lamp clicked on and Spike was leaning protectively over him, snarling at the emptiness of their room and ignoring the desperate hands that grasped and slipped, damp with sweat.

“Fuck,” Xander gasped.  “Fucking almighty fuck.”

The snarl lessened to a muted growl and Spike moved slowly back to his own spot in the bed, one hand snatching Xander’s and finally giving him something solid and strong and real to hang onto.

“Nothing,” Spike eventually said, having out-stared the room for a solid five minutes.

“Dream.  Fuck.  Bad.  Bad, bad, bad.”  Spike unconsciously brought Xander’s hand to his mouth, pressed it against his lips, not kissing, just holding.  Xander let the gesture sit him up, and he leaned against the vampire, catching his breath and calming down.  “My own,” Xander whispered, the words that were branded in the forefront of his mind.

The growl went back to the snarl for a moment before breaking off completely.

“It won’t get you,” Spike promised, now clutching Xander’s hand to the cool skin of his chest.

“It was only a dream.  There were…bugs.”  Xander shuddered.  “Where in the world are there no bugs?  I have to go live there.”

“Somewhere freezing.  California boy like you wouldn’t stand a…”

“Gyah!” Xander exclaimed as he finally noticed the demonic features.  “I did wake up, didn’t I?”

Spike shook the game face away and studied Xander closely as the human began to giggle, his scrutiny breaking the giggles into full-blown laughter.

“You’re a funny one,” Spike observed as he fell back onto his pillow, taking Xander with him and almost managing an accidental strangulation.  “This shut you up?”  He morphed back into his true guise and after a pathetic squeak, Xander simply laughed harder.

Out of both breath and energy, Xander slumped where he’d been guided, sprawled over Spike and now leaning his chin on the vampire’s breastbone.  He gazed thoughtfully at Spike, and Spike, semi-hidden behind the demon’s mask, gazed thoughtfully back.

“You bit me,” Xander stated in due course.

“I know.”

“You liked it.”

Understatement.  Spike’s fingers itched to caress the scar.  Fangs ached to renew it.

“Yes.”

Pause.

“Bite or drink?  Is that the ‘spit or swallow?’ of the vampire world?”

“Bite.”

“But you tasted my blood, didn’t you?”

“Couldn’t help but take some,” Spike answered with cautious honesty, “but that wasn’t the intent.”

Pause.

“Do I taste different?”

“To what?”

“To normal people.”

“You are normal people.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You taste…human.  Normal,” Spike overemphasised.  Then added quietly: “Good.”

Pause.

“Are there repercussions?”

“You mean like rabies shots after a bite from a mad dog?” Spike smiled.

“I mean like Angel thinking…  I don’t know what.  If I knew I wouldn’t be asking.”

“There’s always a chance he’ll see the scar and go ballistic, so I’ll get in first and tell him what happened.  Not all of it,” Spike quickly assured before Xander could protest.  “Just that you needed me closer and that’s…that’s…”

“As close as a vampire gets.  Make sure you tell him I wanted it.”

The thoughtful gaze was back, but now, only seconds in, Spike turned his eyes away and shifted uncomfortably.

“Want to move, Petal?”

“Because you’re getting hard at the thought of…being closer?  Don’t you think I’m used to it?” Xander grinned.  “Last thing at night, first thing in the morning – our time equivalents of those – battery with a friendly weapon.  I don’t mind if you don’t.”

“You don’t mind?”

“It’s not like I take it personally.”

“Idiot,” Spike told him affectionately, dragging fingertips through the dark hair that flopped over Xander’s brow.

“So, Angel…?”

“Why does it matter what he thinks?”  Xander shrugged.  “Think he’ll go back to Rupert and your girls and tell sordid tales that’ll make ‘em stop loving you?”  Xander shrugged.  “Think he’ll have some sort of claim over you, some attachment, through the bloodline?”  Xander shrugged.  “Are you even still awake or am I talking to myself?”  Xander shrugged, tired self seduced into mindlessness by the rhythmical stroking through his hair.

Spike gently tipped him aside and rearranged the tangled covers, tucking Xander in and hesitating as he reached to switch out the light, but reasoning that Xander had never seemed afraid of the dark, and he’d apparently recovered from his bad dream, and…

It was as if Spike took a huge step back and looked at himself, at his behaviour as he alternately fretted over and cosseted the young man.  Laughing softly, he shook his head as he recognised the old ways, the old version of Spike who was love’s bitch and too often wore a wounded heart on his sleeve.  He didn’t want to be that Spike, semi-permanently miserable and ultimately rejected, he wanted the detachment and sanity he’d fought for over the past five, six years.

Yes, okay.  That was, logically, what he should want.  Detachment.  Emotional inaccessibility.  The knowledge he was his own master.  But another hard look at himself and he knew what he illogically wanted.  Honestly wanted.  Wanted?  More.  Back to need over want.  What he needed.  He understood need, which is why he understood Xander’s.  And if Spike didn’t give in to his true nature he’d be treating himself as cruelly as Edmund had, trying to force himself in an unnatural direction.

The simple act of not condemning himself for the person he was lifted an incredible weight Spike hadn’t realised was there.  No leaping up in bed after a shocking revelatory dream and proceeding to behave like a besotted fool, this was a considered step and…no doubt proceeding to behave like a besotted fool.  Time to stop fighting who he was.  Time to start seriously working on what he desired.

“I want you, Xander.  I know what you think, and maybe you and me as an us doesn’t make any kind of sense, but…  This is who I am: an idiotic, hugely obsessive romantic who chooses to see us as star-crossed lovers, and…I want you.”  Xander, barely awake, certainly not paying any attention to Spike’s words, flung an arm back and tried to find purchase to draw the vampire closer.  Spike went willingly, body tight against Xander’s, laying kisses to neck and shoulder as the man muttered something sweet and indiscernible before finally falling asleep.  “Want you, Love.  All of you.  I’ll do my best not to hurt your heart, but I will have you.  See…I do understand need.  And I need you.”

…

“Fancy going to the pictures?” Spike asked as he browsed the local newspaper Xander had picked up in the motel’s diner.

“Pictures?”

Spike tutted.

“Cinema.”

“Ohh, pictures.  Moving pictures.  They have sound now, y’know.  And col-our,” Xander cheekily spelt out, ignoring the reprimanding glance from the vampire.  “You have that address?” he asked as he sealed and stamped Henry’s birthday card and placed it in a second envelope.  “The via LA one?”

“Leave it, I’ll do it.”

“I want to mail it, so…now?”  Spike tossed the paper aside with a sigh and took Xander’s pen, doing as he was asked; Xander added a stamp and sat staring at the door, wondering if Spike could be persuaded to let him out of sight for the second time that afternoon.  “You mind if I…”

“Yes, I mind.  Just go and do it.”

The moment Xander left, Spike was at the window, peering through a crack in the curtains and watching every step of the man’s progress until he was out of view.  Wasn’t often that Spike cursed what he was, but sometimes the UV problem really got to him.  The rules were fine for traditional vampires, but he thought there should be some sort of leniency for a unique being such as himself.  Oh, and Angel at a push, he supposed.  But especially him because he was here, now, and once again stuck in the ‘unable to protect the human in daylight’ loop.  It helped to blame Xander: bloody humans and their irrational enjoyment of being in the sunshine.  Or lack of it, today, but even this watery light was enough to keep Spike inside.  And, in fairness, Xander had been reasonable about being trapped indoors too, and Spike knew how hard reasonable was, and…that didn’t help.  At.  All.

“Have you been standing there, grinding your teeth, since I left?”

“No.  Yes.  It’s your fault.”

“Well, of course it’s my fault,” Xander grinned, “it wouldn’t be any fun if it wasn’t my fault.  And what are we talking about exactly?”

“The fact that, with time and inclination, I could walk the sea beds to reach anywhere in the world, but I can’t help you if you’re outside when the uber-nasty strikes in the day.”

“Not when,” Xander told him with a shudder.  “Don’t make it a when, for God’s sake.”

“I don’t care how inconvenient it is for you, in future…”

“No, stop right there.  Finish that sentence and we’ll fight, really fight.”

“Because I want to keep you safe?”

“Because I feel enough of a prisoner already, I can’t cope with any more restrictions.”

Spike glared and Xander…  Well, it would be irrational to expect him to stop making up games after a post-pubescent life of it.  Anya would have detected the potential for multiple orgasms by the glint in his eye and pounced, but luckily Spike wasn’t paying attention, still sulking and wearing that off-putting sucking lemons face, as Xander battled to expunge the warder/prisoner fantasy from the naughtiest corner of his mind.

But still…

“I’ll get safely out of your way: shower while you brood and hit the blood.”

Xander gestured to the duffle of fresh supplies that had shown up on their doorstep during the morning, hoping that Spike would be distracted long enough for this frustrated male to escape.

“You don’t have to hide away from me, I’m…  All right, I’m not going to mention that again.  Course you need a little freedom, you’re not the only one feeling trapped.”

“We’ll be good later, yeah?  I know it’s only the chapel but we get out, meet new people.  Maybe,” Xander added quickly, already sold on his own idea, “maybe, as this is a bigger place, they have a club we can go on to.”

Spike’s interest visibly perked.  Then visibly flattened.

“How can you do that with the voices?  All those people, it’d drive you nuts.  At least if we went to the cinema we could sit close enough for you not to be bothered.”

“’Kaaaay…  Apart from the fact we’ll have missed the last show, could be, if we’re clubbing, the music will be louder than them.  Could be…I’ll have to smooch with you all night to stay sane.  Could be we won’t know until we try, so let’s try.”

“If you’re willing to take a chance it’d be churlish to turn you down,” Spike grinned.  “And you know I’m not averse to the odd smooch.”

“You know that was a joke, right?  ‘Cause, good choice of words.  Odd smooch.  The locals would probably find it a very odd smooch.  After Tobyville I have no intention of stirring up the locals.”

“You don’t want to check me out while I protect your honour, or what’s left of it?”  Hands on hips, Spike hung his head, shook it slowly, adding a transparently fake sigh for good measure.  “You’re not the man I thought you were.”

“And isn’t that something to be grateful for?”

Spike peered and smirked, so mischievous that Xander wondered where the soul got to when that expression appeared.

“Shower then?” Spike reminded him.

“Uh…yeah.  Shower.  Alone,” Xander felt it necessary to add after that look.

Spike gave him a wink before turning to retrieve a bloody snack from Angel’s delivery.

“Alone in body if not in spirit.  Enjoy thinking of me, Petal.”

“Think of you?  Oh, sure, ‘cause we’re expecting a bizarre occurrence to announce the forthcoming apocalypse.”

Xander left, muttering to himself, and Spike took a deep breath, analysing, and silently rejoicing over the knowledge that Xander was growing increasingly horny around him.  Not the most patient of vampires but he knew the worth of attrition, and what were Xander’s defences for if not to be worn down?

…

The Woodbury Chapel was bigger and grander than anything Xander had been used to, but the warm welcome was familiar, and it was nice to catch up with the people he’d met a short while ago at Peter and Miriam’s.  Spike’s ability to quiet the spirits led to in-depth discussions that went far over the vampire’s head, and he was tempted, listening to what he rapidly condemned as off-the-mark twaddle, to simply announce ‘demon, get over it’.  But he was charming and as helpful as possible because Xander was happy, in his element, and it would have been cruel to ruin his evening.

Nothing to do with Spike’s chances later.  Nothing at all.

There was always a possibility Spike would be outed by one of the stadium of victims, and he’d’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about that, for Xander’s sake rather than his own.  He was surprised that it hadn’t happened yet.  But Xander hadn’t mentioned those particular voices since before Spike had visited LA, so maybe they’d been permanently scared away by a far greater nasty than him.

As Spike reassured himself with that notion, coincidentally Xander had arrived at the uber-nasty too, and was explaining what had happened at the Stokes’ to Jo, cautiously straightening out some rather bizarre half-truths and rumours.  Spike listened with interest as Xander side-stepped, back-peddled, and generally played down his own continuing involvement with the phenomenon, finally managing to turn the conversation back in the direction of why he was actually here and being delighted when he gained himself a guest appearance in the meeting that was due to begin very shortly.

…

At the back of the hall, Spike watched the other mediums with half-hearted interest, obviously because they weren’t Xander and this obsession wasn’t half-hearted either.  Xander had chosen to sit nearer the stage tonight, and Spike had an unobstructed view of the man in meditative mode, eye closed, features calm as he prepared himself for his work; he would be called upon at any moment, and Spike looked forward to seeing his companion as his best: Xander only seemed to be truly happy, vibrantly alive when he was helping people and, although that was unsettling to a demon who wanted to be everything, it was something Spike realistically knew he would have to come to terms with.

Xander’s eye slowly opened and he instinctively looked for Spike, just at the moment when Spike was smiling at his ridiculous self as he sat plotting and planning an immediate future that was as fantastical as anything the Sci-Fi channel had ever bestowed on the object of his scarily single-minded devotion.  Xander simply saw the smile, thought it was encouragement for him, and smiled back with an appreciative nod.  Xander started to look away, but he seemed compelled to take another glance, and their eyes caught and held for what probably should have been an uncomfortably long time, but no.

The knowledge that Xander was drawing strength from him hit Spike like the proverbial ton of bricks.  He knew if he chose to he could pretend that this gaze was about romantic affection, but the truth was as good, perhaps even better.  Whatever had been said, he hadn’t really believed Xander trusted him.  Until this very moment.  When Spike saw it.  And felt it.  And knew it.

Another brief smile as Xander heard himself being introduced to the audience, then he was in public mode, and Spike was simply one of many.  The vampire missed Xander’s first contact, as he wallowed in his marvellous discovery…  Trust.  …then there was a very still silence, and he paid attention to find Xander listening closely to the next spirit, wearing the short-focus expression that told Spike the medium was being shown something; Xander frowned in confusion as he tried to make sense of what was being shared.  He shook his head.

“Again,” as his fingers stopped their twitching and moved to unconsciously stroke an area of his inner forearm.  “I’m sorry, this is very hazy.  Jumbled.  I think…  It’s to do with…numbers, but…” Xander groped, with a further shake of the head.  “Now…  I’m seeing…hair?  A whole heap of…  It can’t be hair.  …  Sorry, Saul, again?”

Xander’s focus lengthened as Spike deliberately drew his attention, then the vampire peered warily around himself at the back of the hall, making sure he was unnoticed before laying a finger across his top lip and raising his hand in a fascist salute.  The references immediately clunked into place.

“Oh, fu—” Xander whispered as new, brutal thoughts flooded through, the spirit taking advantage of his realisation.  “Just the knowledge not the emotions,” he said urgently, “don’t let me…  Okay.  That’s okay, that’s better.”  Xander scanned the audience, looking toward the centre right.  “Where do I have to go?” he murmured to Saul, taking only seconds longer to settle on a middle-aged man.  “Sir…  In the green jacket.  Would you understand about…photographs?  Looking at photographs recently and feeling very sad?”  The man nodded.  “Stars.  There are stars.  White or grey now.  But they were yellow.  You were…looking and…hiding.  Hiding photographs, because you don’t want your children to see them?”

“Yes, I…um…I understand,” the man replied awkwardly, and the young teenager at his side gave him a look filled with curiosity before turning back to Xander.

“Ruth?” Xander asked.

“My wife.”

“That’s it, that’s the sense.  This, I’m sure, is your wife’s grandfather connecting to me, paternal grandfather.  But he knew you, he looked upon you as a son by the end.  …  Within your present family there’s been a lot of interest in the past.”

“That would be me,” the teen spoke up.

“Uh…Darryl?”

“Yes.”

“Your great granddad is very aware of you, of what you’ve been doing, investigating the past.”

“Our family tree.  For school.”

Xander nodded, and listened, turned his attention back to the man.

“I have to come to you.  Erik?  That’s you?”  Nod.  “He’s showing me…”  Xander flinched.  “Just the thoughts, not—  Okay, that’s it.  Show me.  This is…  Bir…ken…  Birken…  Birkenau.  It was…”

“I know what it was,” Erik cut in, voice hoarse.

“And your grandfather…  …  Okay.  You can’t protect the children.  That’s what he’s telling me.  You can’t protect the children.”  Xander listened, making sure he had the message precisely right.  “This kind of protection leads to ignorance, and ignorance leads to it all happening again.  …  He’s…  Amazingly, he’s learned to forgive.”  Erik understandably shook his head in disbelieve, an action repeated by individuals in every row of seats.  “But forgiving…can’t mean forgetting.  He’s showing me…  Oh, God,” Xander’s voice broke up and he swallowed hard.  “I can’t convey any of this, it’s too…it’s too much, and I don’t want to try in front of Darryl.”

“I do know about the camps,” Darryl said, sounding pretty shaky himself.

“But you…”

More images, uncensored feelings, and Xander turned away for a moment’s privacy as he tried to compose himself, Saul finally putting an end to the vivid and terrifying awareness of existing within a Nazi concentration camp that the spirit was inflicting.  Instinctively knowing that Spike would be halfway to the stage by now, no doubt in aggressively overprotective mode, Xander quickly turned back, gave a wave to stop Spike in his tracks, and managed a weak smile for the family he’d been talking to.

“He spends a lot of time with you, he watches over his family.  He knows the way the past has affected the present and…  He asks you to respect the – his – beliefs, even if you can’t share them.  You understand?”  Erik nodded; Darryl remained head down, refusing to acknowledge that request.  Xander listened for more information and his face broke into a relieved smile.  “You have a daughter, or possibly a niece you’re very close to, and…  There’s a lot of disapproval going on.   …  This would be about…wow, has to be the boyfriend.”  Erik nodded ruefully as if he knew what was coming, amid a few humorously knowing murmurs from those seated near to him.  “Your granddad wants to remind you that he didn’t like you much either when you first showed up…but see how that turned out.”  The burst of laughter Xander was expecting happened and, thankfully moving away from past terrors, he settled into his variety of normality.

…

In the small ante-room to the side of the stage, Xander waited impatiently for the few seconds it took for Spike to join him.  He knew what he wanted, thought Spike wouldn’t object to filling the void created by the lack of Simone and Henry, although it was more difficult than he’d imagined it would be to ask for comfort when he came face-to-face with the vampire.  But a single step, an awkward gesture, and he found himself being hugged and fussed.

“That was…  God, that was horrible,” he said unsteadily as he clung to Spike.

“Over now, Pet,” came the response in Spike’s best soothing tones, swiftly followed by the correction.  “Petal.”

“You could try Xander.”

“I’ve tried Xander: bloody fantastic it was.”

“Calling me Xander,” Xander said patiently, enjoying the diversionary tactics.

“Calling you Xander when?  Before, during, or after?”

“During,” Xander replied in kind, pulling back to catch the lustful interest in Spike’s eyes.  “During…our many fascinating conversa…”

Xander’s face suddenly lost all expression and Spike tightened his hold as the man teetered on the edge of a blackout, but Xander pulled himself back and let himself be guided to, and gently lowered into a conveniently placed chair.  As requested, coffee and a blanket had been left here for Xander, and Spike wrapped him up and helped him drink, seeing the giddiness disperse and Xander’s focus return.

“Humanity,” Xander whispered.

“In which context, and what of it?”

“What of it,” Xander repeated, meeting Spike’s concern with a teary eye.  “Puts your – the demon’s – crimes into perspective, seeing humans—”

Xander couldn’t go on, features crumpling in upset as he turned his face away.  Spike shuffled his chair closer and resumed the hugging and fussing.

“Ate a few Nazis in my time,” Spike whispered.  “That make you feel any better?”

“Oh, yeah.  And that has to be the wrong answer, but after…after…”

“It was a long time ago.  Them, and me.”  Xander nodded and wriggled, any last reticence gone as he pushed himself into the vampire’s embrace.  “And that was just a part of tonight.  Think how many people you made happy.  Erik’s future son-in-law better send you a piece of wedding cake, I know that.”

“Can we get out of here?  Did you ask anyone if there’s a club in town?”

“I’ll ask around now.  Be all right, will you?”

A rapid nod and Spike topped up Xander’s coffee before putting on a very deliberate show of not being at all worried, and leaving to interrogate the congregation.

Xander relaxed, closed his eye, tried not to let his mind drift toward the latest additions to his mental chamber of horrors.  Forced himself to think about…  Spike doing the crossword in the newspaper and bothering, however pointlessly, to read Xander the clues; Dawn with hair six inches tall; Willow with yellow crayons and not black eyes; Mom using lipstick to paint his face like a raspberry tiger; Giles being a Fyarl demon; Buffy not being dead; Anya and Tara not deserving to be dead; Spike being alive and dead and deader and aliver and…

“Am I allowed to disturb you?”

“Please do that,” Xander told Jo, starting to rise but letting her ease him back into his seat.

With a smile, Jo sat in the chair Spike had set alongside Xander’s.

“That was a fascinating reading: Erik’s.  I am sorry it upset you though.”

“Don’t worry about—  Damn, I forgot, I wanted a chance to talk to Erik…”

Jo stopped Xander rising for a second time.

“Already gone, I’m afraid.”

“You have his number?”

“I’m sure someone has, I’ll make sure you get it.”

“You think I should have carried on?  Tried to tell him more of what his granddad was showing me?”

“No.  You were right to stop when you did.  Maybe if Darryl hadn’t been…  No, not even then.  It would have been too distressing for a lot of people.”

“I’m relieved.  I don’t always make the best decisions when it comes to telling or not.”

“Xander, I was wondering…  Would you like to join me and a few friends for dinner tomorrow night?”  Jo smiled again, apologetically this time.  “I’m afraid it’s a rather selfish invitation: I’m hoping with less distractions you may be able to contact my late husband, seeing as none of the resident mediums have.”

“Tomorrow, sure.  I’d be happy to try to reach your husband, you don’t have to be embarrassed to ask.  What time do you want us there?”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to check with Spike before accepting for him?  He might like an evening off if he knows you’re safe with friends.  I get the impression he isn’t here for any reason other than you.”

“No, he does enjoy the readings, it’s the debate that bores him so we’ll have to try not to talk shop all night.  He’ll be fine, and…he’s not going to let me out of his sight anyway – Peter told you about…?”

Jo nodded a sharp, almost conspiratorial nod before standing to leave.

“Any time before eight,” she requested.  “My house is called Rosewood, it’s about a mile along this road on the left if you’re travelling south, it’s the only white house, you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks, I’m looking forward to it.  Keep thinking about your husband.”

“I certainly will.”

Jo waved her crossed fingers at Xander and, with a hopeful smile, she left him alone with his thoughts once again; as Spike reappeared Xander had arrived at…

“What were they thinking?  How could they do that, how could they follow those kinds of orders?  If you can live with a demon and still be a good man, what was their excuse?”

“You have to let this go, Xander.”

“Yeah, or I’ll go nuts trying to figure it out.”

“No, or I’ll thump you for being so tedious.”

“Well, thank you for that, my compassionate friend.”

“Actually…  Can I ask you something?  Now you’ve dragged up demons and such.”

“Sure.”

Spike drew breath to speak but suddenly hesitated.

“Out of here first.”

…

Quiet contemplation until the car but, once inside, the words burst out of Spike.

“I’ve been thinking about it since you asked me how you tasted.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How do I feel to you?”

Xander remembered the sensation of cool flesh beneath his hands and knew he was missing the point.

“Feel?”

“Feel.  Y’know…feel.”

“Like…umm…Spike.”

“Do I feel dead?  Do you feel like you’re with a corpse?”

“No,” Xander assured him, “no, of course not.  You’re like anyone else.  Body, spirit…”

“No heart beat, no breathing…”

“You breathe all the time.”

“So I can speak.  The rest of the time it’s purely habit.”

“Habit or need, you still breathe, and Spike wouldn’t be Spike without the huffing and the puffing and the siiiiighs,” Xander grinned.  Spike’s frown didn’t unwrinkle for a moment.  “C’mon, Spike, I may listen to the dead but I live with the living, and that’s the living of whatever description, and that’s you.”

“I feel alive?”

“As much as anyone does.  Remember, voices aside, I’m just a normal guy.”  Spike stared, eerily quiet.  Xander looked out of the window, finding a featureless brick wall fascinating, just to avoid that stare.  “What am I facing?  A charge of deadism?  ‘Cause, Baby, I’m spending every minute with you, I’m sleeping in the same bed as you, I can’t be much more accepting.”

Xander defensively jerked away as Spike moved in fast, and the vampire missed his kiss by a fraction of a second.

“You call that accepting?” Spike accused.

“Don’t come at me from my blind side and make me jump, you ass!” Xander laughed as he prodded Spike away.  “And will you stop with the kissing.  No kissing.”

“You know how much I want you and you have less excuses all the time to…”

“You want me, why?  Proximity.  Wow, what was I thinking?  Even the biggest cynic in the history of failed romance would lose himself to that heartfelt declaration of wanting to get off on the nearest convenient body.”

“Xander…”

“I’ll tell you what, I’m not going to pander to this.  No more insinuations of deadism from you when I’ve been honest about how I feel and—  Fuck this, I’m past justifying my decision!  Deal, okay?”

“Xander…”

“And this is just you, isn’t it?